


i just wanna be a part of this (to hell with our good name)

by PrinceDrew



Series: better off against worse for wear [5]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Connor is trying, Cynthia is trying, Future Fic, Gratuitous use of song lyrics, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, POV Connor, Poetry, Recovery, Reference to BoJack Horseman, Reunion Fic, Tell Me, Zoe is trying, child oc, connor lived au, sequel fic, they're all trying okay, though not as bad as the last fic I swear, uh if you think anything else needs tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:13:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceDrew/pseuds/PrinceDrew
Summary: He had to leave, fuck, he had to leave, he had togo.There were tears, he was crying, he shouldn’t be crying, he was shaking too much, vision blurred, he kept blinking, trying to clear it, he should leave, he was up, he was grabbing his bag, scrubbing away his tears with his sleeves, the crowd was cheering because Evan was finishing and he was leaving, slipping out the door as easily as he slipped in.Cold, sharp bullets of rain pierced him as soon as he stepped outside, and he came a little back to himself, but not enough to stop. The need for a smoke burned him, but not there, not in the doorway of a fucking café, so he started to walk, there was a bar down the road, he could just duck into their doorway just for a minute or two, and maybe have a drink -“Connor!” He froze, heart mid-beat, because of that voice, that voice, that stupid fucking voice ----Sequel fic toone day we'll get nostalgic for disasterand Connor's PoVyou're someone (who knows someone (who knows someone i once knew)).





	i just wanna be a part of this (to hell with our good name)

**Author's Note:**

> Me, bored and waiting for lessons to start: Hey Drew how about you write a Connor PoV of the reunion fic  
> Me: Okay!  
> Me, 3k in and still no Evan in sight: Hey Drew how about you regret every life choice that led up to this  
> Me: Okay!
> 
> Once again, a sequel fic to [one day we'll get nostalgic for disaster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11995728), because I cannot leave this AU alone for the life of me. Though this time it is a Connor perspective which was fun, at least.
> 
> Also, fair warning; this fic alludes to the act of rape, and while it's not described explicitly, it's still there, and I want you reading this to be safe. I've broken down because of fics before, and trust me, it isn't fun.

_‘Back in the nineties, I was in a very famous TV show…’_

Connor would be the first to admit that BoJack Horseman didn’t seem like a show his mom would watch, and he wasn’t that sure if he wanted to know why she watched it. Even when he was younger, the darkest show he could remember her watching was Scrubs of all things. Maybe House when she thought he and Zoe were asleep.

Still. Cynthia liked BoJack Horseman, or at least willing to tolerate it enough to watch it with him in the living room on a Saturday evening, Eva curled up between them on the sofa, Zinnia nearby in her high chair as he tried to spoon baby food into her mouth, though mostly getting it on her face. They still needed a paediatrician for her, Connor thought absently as he gave up, putting down the food and picking her up instead.

“What’s the matter, eh?” he asked, settling back down on the sofa, accepting the bottle Cynthia passed him. Zinnia almost pawed at it as he held it up to her mouth, which good. She was learning, even if she couldn’t grasp it like all the books said she should. “You’re not normally this fussy, are you? You’re not sickening for something?”

God, he hoped not. Zinnia still verged on the side of ‘underweight’, still was small and not as developed as she should be - but better, better better better, she was better than before, she wasn’t dependent anymore - and the last time she had been sick was the last time the idea of doom had settled into Connor, and he spent a week with almost no sleep, didn’t even stay in his own bed, just slept on the sofa by her crib thinking how useless worthless bad awful horrible no-good shit he was at being a parent and -

“Connor, sweetie?” Cynthia asked, gently touching his shoulder. “You zoned out for a moment. You want to keep watching or have you had enough?”

Right. Yeah. No. He wasn’t a shit parent. He was a struggling parent, but he was trying. Not perfect, but there’s no perfect parent. No Such Thing. He was trying, and that’s what he had to do.

“It’s fine,” he told her, drawing Zinnia closer to his chest, finally looking back at the screen. “Just - Just skip back to the start, yeah?”

Cynthia just gazed at him for a moment, before nodding and doing so, setting into the sofa as the episode played.

 _“Piece of shit. Stupid piece of shit. You're a real stupid piece of shit. But I know I'm a piece of shit. That makes me better than all the pieces of shit who don't know they're pieces of shit. Or is it worse?”_ BoJack asked into the room, before stopping as Cynthia paused the TV.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” she asked, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, and he nodded, because it was true.

Everything was okay. Everything was going to be okay. The past month and a bit was okay. Zinnia’s first birthday party - which was just the five of them and Eva, with a cake brought from some local bakery Cynthia liked to support that tasted better than he thought - was okay. Even stuff he thought that wasn’t going to be okay - like Zoe and Larry and adjusting - weren’t as bad as he had thought.

It was just his brain, sometimes, that wasn’t okay, and maybe Cynthia realised that, because she nodded towards the TV, gesturing for him to pass her Zinnia, which he did. Cynthia looked at her rather than him, moving some of Zinnia’s curls away from her face as she gave her the bottle of milk again.

“My mind got like that, sometimes,” she said. “That inner monologue. When I was younger, and… and a few years back. Does -” And she paused then, because he was already nodding. 

“Not as bad it used to be,” he told her. “But - sometimes, yeah. I’m working on it though. Was working on it with Grace - y’know, but yeah.”

He still needed a new therapist. The list Zoe gave him was in his room somewhere - and that was odd, really, how they never boxed up his room like he thought they would - and Cynthia had offered to help him look, it was just -

Just Zinnia.

She couldn’t be left alone while he was looking for a therapist. It - it wouldn’t be good to her.

And he was better. He could wait until Zinnia needed him less to look.

“I understand,” Cynthia murmured, still looking at Zinnia. “Connor, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Mom?” It wouldn’t be bad. No matter what she asked, it wouldn’t be bad. She was his mother, and she wasn’t going to intentionally hurt him, because she loved him.

“When was the last time you had a night to yourself?” she asked, and before he could reply, “Without Zinnia or Eva?”

Well. That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

He never had enough money for going out. Not until his book got published and he finally got money, but that was after Zinnia was born, and even if he could go out before then, he couldn’t leave Eva alone in an apartment or motel, she got lost too easily, and beside it was expensive and not his idea of fun and even if _she_ no even if someone told him to come with it wouldn’t have worked, because it never did work.

“Not for a long time, huh?” Cynthia mused, now taking the bottle from Zinnia and setting it aside, sitting her up. She was in her sleeping onesie, white with soft grey and pink stars on it, one of the few non-blue things she had. Even her toy seahorse was mostly blue rather than the green it was advertised as.

“Not... really no,” Connor admitted, eyes on the TV, staring down the cartoon horse in front of him. Next to him, Eva turned, whining a little.

“Go out tonight,” Cynthia stated, reaching over to stroke Eva’s belly.

Well, she did always claim to want the best for him. Really, he should have expected that.

“Mom, I can’t,” he began, tugging at some of his hair. It needed cutting, he thought vaguely. It was looking too long, getting too many split ends, fuck, he couldn’t let this go to shit again at least he wasn’t pulling it all out again. “I just - it’s late. Yeah, it’s too late to go out.”

It wasn’t even ten yet. Cynthia fixed him with a flat stare.

“Connor. You’re a twenty-three-year-old insomniac. It is not too late for you,” she said, her tone flat. “Do you want me to call your sister down?”

Oh god.

“Mom, that’s really not necessary -” he tried.

“Zoe! Come here a moment!” she called, still scratching Eva’s belly.

“Why?” his sister’s voice called back, vaguely in the vicinity of either the bathroom or her bedroom.

“I need you!” Cynthia said, and not even a moment later, Zoe was there, in the doorway to the living room, half squinting into the room - was her eyesight turning bad as well, God he hoped not, reading glasses were just infrequent enough to be annoying - in pyjama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt he vaguely registered as his in high school and could probably still fit into now.

“Yeah?” she asked, her face slightly red. Must have been washing it or scrubbing it or something then.

“Help me to convince Connor to go out,” Cynthia said, Zinnia still in her lap. “He’s not left the house since he got here.”

“I have!” Connor protested, because he did, he had. There was the talk at Zoe’s college - which did his mom know about that? He had told her and his dad it was a work thing, which wasn’t… wasn’t wrong. “I take Zinnia out! And I’m the one who walks Eva!” Because she was his dog. Even if everyone else adored her - especially Larry, who would sometimes talk at length about how he never had a dog growing up - she still tended to stick close to Connor, and Connor to her.

“I stand corrected,” Cynthia said. “He’s not gone out for some personal, relaxing _alone_ time.”

Which - okay. That was fair. More than fair.

“Connor, you gotta spend some time alone,” Zoe chided, stepping into the living room. “It’s not good for you to spend all your time with Zinnia. Isn’t it part of self care? Just time to yourself, yeah?”

He nodded, because he still didn’t trust himself to speak around her, the voice at the back of his mind still shrieking at him all the ways he’d fuck up with her, even after their talk. Talks. There had been more, and there would be more, and at some point he’d -

He’d make a mistake, and he would then try to fix it, because that’s what you did. You fix mistakes and you don’t let them fester in wounds that become scars.

There. That was better.

“And if it’s Zinnia you’re worried about, I’ll babysit,” Zoe offered with a shrug. “I mean, she is my niece. I oughta get used to looking after her.”

Okay. That was good. He - He could trust Zoe with Zinna. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was Connor had spent _too much_ of the past five years alone, even with Eva. He was better around people now, antidepressants and mood stabilizers and hours and hours upon therapy ensuring that, but he wasn’t better to himself. Good thoughts didn’t come naturally to him after so long. Bad thoughts were - were different.

Being around people stopped them, a little. Not a lot, but just enough to get by.

Being on his own was terrifying.

But that was a Therapist Problem. Not a Sister Problem or a Mother Problem. Grace had helped a little, but then he had to move, so it stopped.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” he told them instead. “So it’d be pointless to go out -”

“The HuggaMug Café has an open mike night on,” Cynthia said, nodding towards a leaflet lying on the coffee table. It looked like it had been placed there ‘innocently’ hours earlier and indeed, it declared there was an open mike night every Saturday, half nine til late, as if ‘late’ was a quantifiable and objective state and not dependent on a person’s individual sleeping hours.

God, no wonder some people called his poetry pretentious if that's how he felt about the word ‘late’.

“Just… just try it, please?” Cynthia asked, her voice not quite steady. “Just this once, sweetheart. You don't have to do it again.”

Maybe it was because it was his mom, and maybe because it was Zoe was in the room too, and maybe it was because he didn’t want to let either of them down and he wanted to show them that he had had _had_ gotten better, so.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”

It would only be one night if he hated it. It wouldn’t be that bad, he told himself as he collected his coat and his bag, checking for his wallet and phone at least twice over. He repeated the thoughts to himself as typed in the name of the café into google maps. One night if he hated it. Wouldn’t be that bad.

Fifteen minutes walk. He could handle that.

And it would only be an open mike night. Not like it was a club or a bible study or a golf tournament thing. 

“Just enjoy yourself,” Zoe told him as they stood in the doorway, holding Zinnia close to her chest, but not quite right, not quite supporting her like he did or Cynthia did. It was almost comical how they looked, like Zinnia was going to slide down and latch onto Zoe’s hip like in some old country music video. “You know it’ll be good to spend some time away from Zinnia.”

“I’m not gonna stop texting for updates on her all night,” he told her, fingers twitching with the desire to grab Zinnia himself. But that wouldn’t be helpful. “I hope you know that.”

“I do,” she said, and then looked at Connor, lips twitching. “Go on. You look like you want to correct my baby holding -”

“Youneedtosupporthermore,” Connor rushed, before taking a breath. “Like, her back. She’s still a little floppy, you know, she needs to be held up.”

He had never seen his sister look more unimpressed with him in his entire life.

“Connor. She’s a year old.”

“Zoe. She’s developmentally delayed.”

That, at least, got her to shift around so she was supporting Zinnia better. It - it wasn’t ideal, but it was better.

“I forget that, sometimes,” she admitted, one hand patting Zinnia’s back, as she looked down at her. “I guess I don’t have a great frame of references for babies.”

“It’s more obvious when she’s around other babies,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You see she’s smaller and - and how they do things she can’t. People in the park think she’s younger than she is.”

People in the park also thought he was her uncle or her babysitter. He tried not to think about the people in the park.

“Yeah,” Zoe murmured. “I bet they do.” Then she looked up at him, smiling, shaking her head. “Go on, shoo. Get to that open mike night thing. You’re cutting into our auntie-niece bonding time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor said, sighing, before smiling back at her, then at Zinnia, who was gazing at him, pinky finger in mouth. “Be good for Auntie Zoe, yeah Zinny? I’ll be back. And Zo, text me if you need anything, Mom should help you -”

“ _Go_ ,” Zoe insisted, all but slamming the front door in his face, but still smiling. And then he was alone, outside his family’s house, staring at the front door.

Didn’t it use to be a different colour? Did it use to be more of darker grey than the weird ocean-slate grey combination that was in front of him? Or was the light just playing tricks on him?

Right. Fifteen minutes to walk down. He took walks by himself all the time. He’d be okay, he repeated to himself, over and over again until it was engraved in his brain. He’d be okay. He’d be alright. He’d walked alone before.

Except he was never by himself when he walked. Eva and Zinnia were always there, one way or another, and he could focus on them and not his thoughts. He didn’t trust himself to distract himself with his phone when he walking, even if it was with one of the many mindless apps he had downloaded to pass the time.

He'd be okay. He'd be alright. He'd be okay.

The mantra repeated in his head, over and over and over like his favourite song stuck on repeat, slowly morphing and changing as they churned in his head. 

Maybe he should have brought his headphones. The sound of just his footsteps and the occasional passing car just seemed… wrong to him. A little too much. Music helped, sometimes, but other times it just made it a little worse. So he hummed to himself, just under his breath, the lyrics flooding into his mind anyway.

_It's all a game of this or that, now versus then, better off against worse for wear..._

Was it sad that his favourite song hadn’t changed since high school?

Maybe it was a little sad, but he was sure if he asked his mom or his dad, theirs wouldn’t have changed. Maybe Zoe’s, but even when she was a kid her favourite song changed with the weather. And besides, he didn’t want to change his favourite song. It made him remember.

…Did Evan have a favourite song now? It was maybe an odd and slightly creepy detail to remember, the fact he didn’t have one - and what an odd question to ask, you never really heard it outside of icebreakers - but it had been five years.

You can’t go five years without a favourite song.

The HuggaMug Café soon appeared in the distance, the only shop even half-illuminated in the dark night, golden light spilling onto the street. It looked exactly what he thought it’d look like - a hybrid of a Starbucks and any random indie café.

Hopefully the ‘til late’ finishing time that was promised to him was sooner rather than later.

He slipped into the café, wincing as the sudden murmuring hit his ears, heat rushing at him, the smell of coffee and sweets and cinnamon invading all at once. The table closest to him was empty - probably because it was by the door, and a breeze would arrive with every person - so he sat down, eyes on the empty stage, bag resting against the table.

An open mike night at a café. God, it was like he was a poet or something. 

Though no one would want to hear his voice. It wasn’t right, for poetry, that was. Or for anything, really. 

Right. A drink. He ought to get a drink, so at least if his night was shit, he’d at least know if this café was worth revisiting, and it’d give him something to do. He left his bag on the table, fingers tapping against his thigh as he scanned the menu in the half-light of the café- why was the outside better lit than the inside? - trying to find something that didn’t sound too bad, that he wouldn’t just leave, that wasn’t too expensive.

A mocha was only $3.99, so he slipped the dollar and penny change into the tip jar. It wasn’t much, but he remembered when it was something to him.

“You came late,” the barista said as he made Connor his mocha. He looked a few years younger than him, probably just barely avoiding being in high school with him. Lucky. “Last set of the night - had a little more poets than we usually do compared to singers. You new around here or something?”

“Or something,” Connor murmured, because the barista didn’t really deserve to hear all his problems. They were Therapist Problems, not Random Barista Problems. He thanked him as he passed him his drink, the mug looking like it came from a charity shop, brown with colourful pastel dots. He was going to leave, was going to step away and leave the barista alone, but then the microphone let out a whine that wasn’t really feedback, but told him to stay and -

“I - I hope you’re all ready,” _and he knew that voice_ , “b-because here’s Wonderwall.”

And Connor wasn’t there. He knew that voice, knew it knew it knew it better than his own, had played it endlessly on repeat in his own mind, every cadence and stutter he ever heard from it, distorted a little, maybe, by memory but close, so close to reality.

He didn’t turn. He didn’t want to look.

_“Slip inside the eye of your mind, don’t you know you might find a better place to play? You said that you'd never been, but all the things that you've seen - they slowly fade away.”_

Fuck, when did he get good at singing? Was he always good at singing? How come it never came up? They talked about fucking suicide and Evan had never went ‘oh hey I can sing’.

_“And so Sally can wait, she’s knows it's too late as we’re walking on by. Her soul slides away - but don't look back in anger, I heard you say.”_

He had to look.

Evan looked - Evan looked like his memory, but better. Better Better Better. Still wearing a polo shirt, oddly enough, but he kinda - filled it out better? Less of a baby face, probably less of the baby fat everyone pretended teenagers didn’t have. Hair was the same.

He was the same, but better.

...good. It was good that he looked better.

God, was that even a word anymore? Better. Bet. Ter. Bitter. Bitter and Better. Get better, better, better. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

“Ev’s good, isn’t he?” the barista asked, sliding forward on his elbows, almost fluttering his eyelashes - no, he wasn’t, he was just blinking. Just. Blinking. “You know him or something?”

“...he went to my high school,” Connor told them. “It’s just. Been a few years, you know?”

The barista nodded, eyes almost moony as he watched Evan play and sing, clearly not paying attention to Connor anymore, so he left for his table, mug clutched tightly in his hand. It felt too big in his hands.

It was just. Just him projecting. Yes. Right. The barista was just watching Evan because he nothing else to do. There was nothing else to do. It was a fucking open mike night.

He could leave, he thought as he sat back down, casting his gaze back to the stage. There was nothing stopping him. He was right by the door. Could easily slip out and never noticed. Could disappear again.

He didn't move.

“…but don’t look back in anger - but don’t look back in anger, I heard you say,” Evan finished, and the crowd whooped and cheered and it was just a _too much_ and he should leave and -

\- and Evan saw him. And he just froze, eyes wide, Connor could see that even from where he was sat, and he was just staring, staring _staring_ at Connor, like he was a deer and Connor was headlights, like he wasn’t quite there and he wasn’t quite anywhere.

Then his eyes snapped away, staring out just over the crowd as Evan breathed in, noticeably, held it and let go, his eyes still wide but a little less so.

Was he panicking? No, Evan’s panic attacks were… were media panic attacks, eyes wide and breaths sharp and panicked. He could remember that much, from that night. From just being somewhat aware of Evan for years beforehand.

Then Evan seemed to come back to himself, shaking his head but not looking like he realised it.

“Sorry about that folks,” Evan told the crowd, smiling somewhere between softly and a commercial smile. “Just got a bit distracted for a moment - now, who wants to hear Mr. Blue Sky as an acoustic song? No one? Too bad, because it’s what you’re getting anyway.” There a scattered chuckle, an odd laugh, but he didn’t even seem to notice, because he just started playing.

“ _Sun is shining in the sky - there ain't a cloud in sight…_ ”

Maybe this was Evan’s better. Being able to calm himself down from a panic attack like that without medication.

Five years was a long time. Just shy of a fifth of his life. It made sense that he hadn’t stayed the same. And it wasn’t like Connor wasn’t better either. He didn’t want to off himself anymore, and he was… was better at not acting out. So he shouldn’t compare. He wouldn’t compare.

“ _Mr. Blue, you did it right, but soon comes Mr. Night creepin' over - now his hand is on your shoulder, never mind, I'll remember you this - I'll remember you this way…_ ”

Seriously, Evan was just good at singing. Not trained, that much was clear, but he could probably get a decent amount of views if he started a youtube channel. Maybe he had one.

...he shouldn’t have come. Evan just seemed… shaken, really, because he didn’t pause once, switching to a new song as soon as Mr. Blue Sky finished, one about sharks and swimming, and it sounded _good_ but it didn’t sound like Evan and - and -

And Connor didn’t have a right to decide what was like Evan and what wasn’t like Evan. They spent a night together. A night and a month, and then Connor left. Evan knew him better than his family. That didn’t mean he knew Evan. 

Evan didn’t know him anymore.

He didn’t look up. He kept his gaze focused on his table, slowly sipping at his mocha as it scalded his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was nice, at least. Flavour wise.

Evan finished that song and moved on, the music changing, sliding into a ballad, his voice becoming like honey, though rough and cracked around the edges. Crystallized honey, maybe.

It was a good song, but his mind was too far to register the lyrics. Head down, eyes down, mind on other things.

How Zoe doing with Zinnia? 

Was she coping? Hopefully she had put Zinnia to bed, or tried - she was still a little up and down when she came to sleeping, as if sometimes she forgot she was used to the new house and wanted to pretend she wasn’t. He should call soon. Or text.

...Did he leave enough milk for her? Did Zoe know how to make formula if he didn’t? Or what temperature to give to it Zinnia at? Zinnia liked her late night feeds, and she liked her midnight feeds even more. Maybe he’d be back by then. Hopefully he’d be back by then.

“S-So, uh,” Evan’s voice rang out a moment after he finished singing, but Connor didn’t look up. Couldn’t look up. “This last song isn’t one I’ve performed in public before, so forgive me if I’m not the best but uh - t-there’s someone here tonight who - who I thought of when I first heard this song, and I think it’s j-just important that he hears it, y-you know? So, uh, yeah. I hope he’s still here.”

He was still there. Shit, did he blend in that well? Could he hide that well? Or was Evan’s view just restricted?

Evan was singing. Evan was singing a song for him. He was singing a song that he thought Connor should hear, which meant he had probably had thought of Connor at least a little in the past five years which probably meant he missed did he get Connor’s book did he even still live there fuck if he did then _why didn’t he fucking email -_

“ _This is a song with the same four chords I use most of the time, when I’ve got something on my mind and I don’t want squander the moment, trying to come up with a better way to say what I want to say._ ”

Fuck. Breathe, Connor, breathe, he told himself, counting. In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three. Don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t cry.

“ _People were mean to you, but I always thought you were cool, clipping down the concrete hallways with your spiked heels back in high school._ ”

Was that how Evan saw him? Connor was a fucking asshole in high school. An asshole with severe mental health issues who needed medication and therapy and just something more, but still an asshole. He wasn’t cool. He never was cool.

“ _It's good to be young, but let's not kid ourselves it's better to pass on through those years and come out the other side, with our hearts still beating - having stared down demons, come back breathing._ ”

His voice was thick, still nice, but wrong, not even, not Evan, not Evan at all. It sounded like he was going to cry.

“ _You deserve better than you got, someone’s gotta say it some time ‘cause it’s true._ ”

He had to leave, fuck, he had to leave, he had to _go._ There were tears, he was crying, he shouldn’t be crying, he was shaking too much, vision blurred, he kept blinking, trying to clear it, he should leave, just leave, fuck his mocha, just leave it, he was up, he was grabbing his bag, wiping, scrubbing away his tears with his sleeves, the crowd was cheering because Evan was finishing and he was leaving, slipping out the door as easily as he slipped in.

Cold, sharp bullets of rain pierced him as soon as he stepped outside, and he came a little back to himself, but not enough to stop. The need for a smoke burned him, but not there, not in the doorway of a fucking café, so he started to walk, there was a bar down the road, he could just duck into their doorway just for a minute or two, and maybe have a drink -

No. Smoking was bad enough, and he didn’t need to drink. Cigarettes, at least, didn’t make him behave worse. A smoke would be enough to calm him down, just a quick one and then he’d head -

“Connor!” He froze, heart mid-beat, because of that voice, that voice, that stupid fucking voice -

“Connor Murphy!” Evan yelled again, and it was raining, did he not know it was raining, and Connor had to turn to look at him, turning statue still, as though Evan had the gaze of Medusa.

Evan was - Evan was just standing there, not blinking, shaking as the rain hit him. Did he not - did he not put his coat on? He hadn’t even put his guitar away, the case for it clutched in his grip along with his coat and his bag. Was - Was he that desperate to see Connor?

“...you need your coat on,” Connor told him, and he was walking towards him because there wasn’t anything else he could do, hand outstretched. “Here - pass me your guitar. I’ll - I’ll hold it for you.”

Evan blinked twice, as if he had forgotten how Connor sounded. Of course he would. People didn’t replay other people’s words endlessly in their voice in their head. At least, people like Evan didn’t.

“O-Oh yeah, sure,” he rushed, sliding off his guitar and offering it to Connor. “C-Careful, she’s my first and only, s-so.”

“Yeah, yeah I got her,” Connor said, taking the guitar from Evan just as he realised he didn’t know how to hold a guitar. “Should I put her away for you as well?”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” Evan muttered, dropping his case and bag onto the wet pavement as he slipped his coat on. “I just. Yeah. Lemme just -” He bent his head as he knelt down by his guitar case, eyes focused away from Connor, like he was reminded of all the bad Connor was, and he didn't want to look at him.

No. Connor wasn’t bad any more than his mom or his sister or his father was. He was just - just human. Just a human with a sick mind that made him do bad things, but he wasn’t bad himself. Just bad to himself.

“Pass her here, will you?” Evan asked, his voice almost a murmur.

“Here you go.” He handed Evan his guitar back, his mind searching for anything to say so silence didn't settle. “You know, I never thought of guitars having genders.”

For a poet, Connor really wasn't that eloquent. 

“She didn't before today,” Evan said, still not looking at him as he placed his guitar in the case. It was plainer the more Connor looked at it. No stickers like there was on Zoe’s. “Doesn't even have a name.”

...were guitars meant to have names?

Evan pocketed something that glinted, then zipped up the case, but didn’t stand up as he slung the strap over his shoulder, nor did he when he picked up his bag. How good was he at balancing then? He was only on the balls of his feet, and Connor couldn’t help but edge closer in case Evan fell over and needed help back up.

“G-Georgina,” Connor said, though he wasn’t sure why. “Georgie for short. I - she looks like a Georgina. If a guitar can look like anything but a guitar.”

“Georgina it is.” Evan nodded, finally standing up, and then he just. Stared at Connor. And Connor stared back.

Evan still had freckles. They weren’t that noticeable, but still were splashed here and there. Then he started shaking, hugging his arms tight to his body, as if the cold just actually hit him, like the sight of Connor distracted him enough from the real world.

He shouldn’t be so ridiculous. He wasn’t that important to Evan. To anyone.

Well. Maybe to Zinnia he was.

“I,” Evan tried, taking a shuddering breath. “Did - Did you drive here?”

“I walked,” Connor told him, shaking his head.

“Do - do you want a lift back then?” Evan asked. “I - I have a car, if you just say where you are, it won't be too long or any trouble, I just - yeah. If you want one.”

Connor was the one who finally looked away. He just - needed a moment. To think.

Evan wanted to take him home. It was what, almost eleven? He hadn’t been out that long. Zoe would probably push him back out the door. And it was Evan. Evan Hansen.

Evan Hansen who Connor had thought about at least once a day for the past five years. The boy who he wrote poems about and to, until most of them ended up in a poetry book that Connor had sent to his address - was it bad that he remembered that, a little weird, a little creepy? - with something desperate scratched onto the title page that he didn’t quite remember, didn’t quite want to remember.

The boy who Connor had spent a night and month with, because he thought Evan was going to kill himself, only to find out Evan didn’t think his mom couldn’t afford his funeral, the boy who he had yelled at and hit only for him to still like him, the boy who he had kissed because there was something there but he didn’t know what, didn’t want to know what, the boy who -

The boy who gave Connor a new option.

He didn’t want him to go again. Not now. Not when he just got him back.

“...can we go somewhere else first?” he asked, trying to keep his voice still. “I think - we should. Talk. We ought to talk.”

“Yeah. We - we probably should.” There was a tug at Connor’s sleeve, and he had the vague realisation he had thrown on his old favourite on top of his other layers. The one that had gone to Vermont and back.

“How do you feel about McDonald's?” Evan asked him. “They refurbished it about six months back.”

McDonald’s. Of all the things this shitty-ass town still had, the fucking McDonald’s.

“The food will taste the same, Ev,” he said, and then he smiled at Evan, because Evan was someone who needed to be smiled at sometimes. “Let's go then.”

“It's just around the corner,” Evan replied, smiling back at him, like a giddy little kid. “Come on.”

Evan led the way through the empty streets, Connor following him just a little behind. No one else was around. God, he hoped no one else had seen them. He hoped that even if they did, they didn’t recognise him.

Honestly, Evan’s car was what he expected Evan would have as a car. One of those small eco cars that looked second-hand, bright green like new leaves in spring, and one of those solar-powered dancing flowers was on the dashboard.

“Hop in,” Evan said, the lights on his car flashing twice as he unlocked it with a key fob. He laid down his guitar in the backseat gently before he actually climbing into his car. “Uh, feel free to pick any CD you want - it's just like. Odds and ends. Whatever I felt like.”

Connor climbed into the passenger seat, and maybe he pulled the door shut too hard, because it slammed and he couldn’t help but wince. Okay. Not the best start. “I'll just - yeah. Leave on whatever you have in.”

Nodding, Evan started his car, a moment passing before the CD player actually began as Evan skipped the track back to the beginning. Piano chords and the clicking of drumsticks before a guitar joined in.

_I broke free on a Saturday morning, I put the pedal to the floor. Headed north on Mills Avenue, and listened to the engine roar._

Maybe this was Evan’s favourite song. Or maybe it was just a random CD he had put in and forgotten about. There was a lot of things it could have been.

He shouldn’t be in his head this much. It was bad for him. But at least he was with someone know. That made it better. Even if it was someone he sort-of knew, sort-of didn’t knew, it was someone, and if he wanted to talk, he could.

He didn’t. He just looked straight ahead of him. Counted the streetlights as they passed by, like he did when he was younger. Focused on his breathing. In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three.

How was Zoe? How was Eva? How was Zinnia? Eva was probably asleep by now, curled up in her cat cave bed that he had brought for her five years ago, because it was more portable and sheltered for her than an actual dog bed.

Hopefully Zinnia was asleep now. Hopefully Zoe wasn’t too stressed over her.

In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three.

_I am going to make it through this year if it kills me. I am going to make it through this year if it kills me._

Evan didn’t miss him. No one missed a fuck up like Connor. Not even his own family missed him, not really.

He shouldn’t think like that. He shouldn’t.

He didn’t let himself think for the rest of the drive to McDonald’s. Just listened to Evan’s music play, counting his own breaths.

In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two -

Evan was touching him, shaking his shoulder, and Connor jumped, whipped around, staring at him.

“You okay?” asked Evan, his voice and face were etched with concern, _fuck_. “You sure you don't want to go back -”

“I'm fine, Ev,” Connor muttered, frowning to himself, and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Absolutely positively one-hundred-percent fine. I swear. Let's - let's go get food or something.”

There was just a moment where Evan looked - startled. Where he looked younger than he was. Where he looked how Connor remembered how he did when he hit him five years ago.

“...Okay,” Evan said at last, nodding in a somewhat dazed manner. “Okay.”

Then he unbuckled his seatbelt and left the car, only pausing until Connor followed in his footsteps, but he didn’t say anything, and the word ‘sorry’ still felt like cotton wrapped around Connor’s tongue sometimes, so he didn’t say anything.

He ended up ordering a mocha and medium fries, because he felt too bad to eat anything else, and there was still something in his mind that told him he needed to save for Zinnia, still needed to count out in his head if he had enough rent money left for the month. Still slipped the change into the charity box at the tills.

Sometimes, he forgot he was living at home, and didn’t have to skip meals so Zinnia could eat. It was just - just what he was used to.

He was used to a lot of things he shouldn’t be.

God, he needed a therapist again.

Evan had gotten his food before Connor, and he was sat in a booth in the back corner, so he sat across from him, smiling and his guts untwisting when he saw what Evan had on his tray.

“Who gets water from McDonald’s?” he asked, relief leaking into his voice. “I don't think anyone else I've ever met has gotten water.”

“W-Well, I do,” Evan told him as he opened his bottle. “It's - it's too late for coffee and I don't like the soft drinks they do here so. Water it is.”

“..that makes sense,” Connor murmured, turning to look out of the window into the car park, his thumb flicking the plastic lid of his mocha, biting his lip, trying to work off the loose skin. It was only Evan’s car in the car park. Not even an employee’s car.

“I…” Evan began, then stopped. “I didn't think you’d ever come back here. I thought you'd just. Stay in Vermont.”

He remembered. Evan remembered he went to Vermont. That shouldn’t have made Connor feel as good as it.

“…yeah,” Connor said, sipping his drink. It felt almost scalding as he did, and the taste wasn't as good as the one at the café, but it would do. “That - that was the plan. Staying in Vermont. But uh - stuff happened. So I - I had to move back here.”

‘Stuff’. Fucking - Fucking ‘stuff’ happened. He got better, he got worse and fucked over by one fucking person, he became a poet, he got better, he had a daughter, and all he could say was fucking ‘stuff happened’.

He really was pathetic, wasn’t he?

“I get you,” Evan told him, though there was an edge to his voice he didn’t seem to realise was there. “Uh, I'm in college now - y-you know the one about an hour away? I’m studying Ecology, so uh. Yeah. That's fun. I’ll probably be a tree surgeon or a park ranger in a few years.”

That’s right. Zoe had mentioned they went to the same college. And he still had that tree thing going on. That was familiar, at least.

“That's cool,” Connor replied, hair falling in front of his face as he looked at his food, scratching around them, hot oil seeping onto his fingers. “I have my GED - you know, the Good Enough Diploma? Which is good and all, you know, given I’m basically a high school dropout.”

There was nothing ‘basically’ about it. He was the youngest in the room when he took the test, and he heard people wondering why he didn’t just return back to high school and get an actual diploma.

“General Education Diploma,” Evan said as he bit into a chicken nugget, finishing it before continuing on. “So you could go to college if you want?”

Well. Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

His mom had asked him. His dad had asked him. Even Zoe had, at one point, mentioned the idea of him taking some courses at a higher level, just so he could understand all the terms people threw at him when he was giving a talk. His mom had seen particularly keen on the idea, mentioning the idea of a part-time degree or community college, that they could afford to put Zinnia in daycare or she could take time off her charity work if he wanted (and he didn’t, he couldn’t ask her to do that for him). But it was just. Just that -

College wasn’t something he’d be able to handle. Not with Zinnia around. Not at that moment. 

“Yeah, but I - I don't think I have the time to,” Connor told Evan instead. “Maybe when life sorts itself out.”

“Or you sort life out.” And _fuck_ , he missed Evan, missed just talking with Evan, and god, he fucking wish he could just arrange the blocks of his life nice and neat just like that.

“Maybe,” he said instead, still not looking at Evan. “Maybe.”

Then he picked up the carton of fries and he started to eat, because he knew he had to, and silence fell on them both even though Evan wasn’t eating. He was looking at the scars on the back of Connor’s hands, the ones _she_ left, the ones he didn’t like to think about, what was Evan thinking? Connor just forced the fries down his throat, even though they were at that luke-warm stage that McDonald’s food started to feel disgusting at.

Did he say something wrong? Did he fuck it up again? Did he -

“I read your book!” Evan yelled, and Connor’s grip went and he was staring at the red-faced boy across from him, who was losing steam, staring back at Connor. “I - I mean. Your poetry collection. T-The one you sent me. I - I just. Y-Yeah. I like it. I, uh, I have it on me? S-So, uh. Yeah.”

He read the book.

_He actually read the fucking book._

Death would not have been merciful enough at that moment.

“…aw, shit.” He was blushing. He was fucking blushing. “Uh, yeah. Can we, like, just pretend the entire book isn’t a massive love letter to you? Even better, can we just pretend the entire thing just doesn't exist? I - yeah. I'd like it if we did that. No book. None.”

“It's a good book,” Evan said, a nervous chuckle lining his laughter “I mean, I liked it. L-Like it.”

Connor slumped forward with a groan, covering his face so he didn’t have to look at Evan.

He had read his book. Evan Hansen had read ‘to my half-loved boy’. Right. That - it wasn’t the end of the world. It was meant for him. Was really meant to be read by him only. Grace had told him if it was easier for him to pretend they were addressed to someone, he should do that. And he did.

He needed to email Grace. See if she had any thoughts about any of the therapists on the list he had. If she knew them.

“...a lot of those I wrote for therapy,” he admitted. “Like, your letters - do you still do those? Fuck, those are what got us here, really. Anyway, yeah. Therapy assignments. Some aren't, but uh. Most are.” He peeked out at Evan, who was still a little red in the face. “You - you have it on you?”

A nod.

“Can I, uh, see it?” He took his hands away from his face, because Evan deserved that, at least.

“Of course,” Evan said, smiling as he pulled the book out of his satchel, waiting for Connor to wipe his fingers on the napkins before holding it out to him. “It, uh. I annotated it a lot though, so uh. Yeah.”

He what?

“You annotated it?” He took the book in hands. It had that weird satin-like texture most paperbacks had, but all the pages were pristine, aside from the ones at the very back. “Like, properly annotated it?”

“Kinda?” Evan said as Connor put the book down on the booth table. “I-I underline lines or phrases I liked, a-and anything I wasn't sure of. And anything I thought I understood that was like, a reference to, uh, us? It’s - it's not English Lit annotations with all the terms and stuff.”

Okay. That was good. If he saw ‘todestrieb’ one more time, he’d probably scream.

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor mumbled, skipping the title and dedication page, looking down the contents page, which was filled to the brim with lower caps titles of his works. True to his word, Evan had annotated it, pencil markings littering the page. “Oh, god I forgot there were so many. Are the ones with stars your favourites?”

“They're the ones I thought were, uh, more addressed to me,” Evan said, sounding half-sheepish, fidgeting just enough Connor to hear. “A-Are they?”

‘a message’, ‘coward’s way bridge’, ‘unhappy as a word’, ‘on a shared dog we depend’, ‘to my half-loved boy’... Over half the poems had a star next to them, and Evan had noticed the main ones.

“I mean, really, all are,” he told him, voice low. “But those ones in particular, yeah.”

There was silence as Connor flicked through the book, squinting at Evan’s sprawling handwriting. It looked like a drunk spider covered in graphite had stumbled across the page, miraculously forming words as he did so. Maybe Evan was better at printing than cursive. Or maybe Evan was dyspraxic - god, then Connor would be nothing better than his high school self.

Maybe Connor should have brought his reading glasses. That - that probably would have helped.

“There, uh, there's been essays about your work,” Evan said at last, still fidgeting as he did. “Like, a-actual professor essays. I've read a few.”

“I haven't,” Connor murmured, eyes flicking over ‘on my eighteenth birthday’. He had circled the line ‘and I didn’t say anything to the one most important’, a line coming off and leading to a note asking ‘Me or Zoe?’. “My editor does though. Wasn't there one that argued that it was nothing but an extended metaphor for heroin addiction?”

“Y-Yeah. From, uh, that Richard Hackenthorpe, r-right?” He was fidgeting a little now. “T-The entire argument was based on ‘heroine and her heroin’, and something about r-recurring motifs in that poem found across the collection? A-And something about how the language you used to describe t-the half-loved boy was similar to feelings of withdrawal. I don't really know. I-It was a dumb paper.”

“It sounds it,” Connor muttered, still scanning the page. “‘heroine and her heroin’ isn't even about you. It's about Ch-”

His heart leapt into his throat, and then they were _there_.

Biting words, screeches in the middle of a breakdown. Poison seeped into her own veins by injection. A silver cross glinting in the dark.

Names have power. If he didn't say her name, he wouldn't think of her.

He was staring at Evan, who looked - scared. Worried. Fearful. When did that happen?

“You don’t... forget I said anything,” he ended saying, ducking his head back down to look at the page, blink blink _blinking_. ‘coward’s way bridge’ stared back up at him. “I - I didn't say anything.”

“You didn't say anything,” Evan said, and when Connor looked back up, he was smiling, so Connor smiled back, quick and gone, but it was still a smile.

Evan returned to his food, and Connor returned to reading. Most of Evan’s annotations were on poem addressed or relating to him - ‘mom where are you’, ‘for better for worse’ and ‘a sister for a stranger’ were mostly isolated, a line or two he maybe liked underlined, but that was it.

It was the last poem that made ice crawl up Connor’s spine.

A tearstained page, crumpled and damaged, but looking like someone tried to fix the damage, a single annotation in the corner of the page.

‘I hope he’s okay.’

He fucked him up. Shit, he was meant to get better, Evan was meant to be better, so much better, better than him, and Connor had gone done what he always fucking did and fucked Evan over by sending him a shitting book of poems why was did he always fuck people up -

“Evan -” he tried, eyes wide as he looked, just looked at him, but Evan was already shaking his head

“It’s it’s okay!” Evan stumbled, eyes still wide, before he paused, and swallowed. “I - It was just. Bad. That day. But it’s a good poem. All of them are.”

He couldn’t look at him. He just - couldn’t look at Evan.

Because Evan was too good for this. Too good to deal with all this crap Connor was. Too good to know about Connor again, sure, he wasn’t fucking perfect, but he was still better, better than Connor, and fuck, they didn’t know each other. It had been five years. Almost a fifth of their lives. Evan didn’t know Connor.

But his mom didn’t, when he came back. His dad didn’t. Zoe didn’t.

And they had learnt. Fuck, they had just adapted to the idea that he was back in their lives. Zoe was trying, talking about her courses, his dad had taken to Eva better than he ever could have hoped, and his mom absolutely adored Zin-

Evan didn’t know about Zinnia.

That… that was probably a place to start. To start to know each other again.

Okay. He could do this. Okay.

“...I…I…” It shouldn’t be that hard, he told himself, running his hands through his hair. “Evan. I - I have to tell you something, okay? Like. It's a big thing. A really - really big thing, and like - it's okay if you freak out. I'd freak out. So, uh yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Evan, nodding. “I - I won’t freak out. I promise.”

In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three.

Eyes on the table.

In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three.

With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone, unlocking it, lip bitten in between his lips as he glanced up at Evan for a moment before ducking his head again.

“I - so - look, I... okay,” he tried, and then he looked at his phone, and he couldn’t help but smile, even with the sinking feeling growing in his stomach.

The picture had been taken at her birthday, before they tried feeding her cake. Eva was just next to her, barely bigger than Zinnia, mouth open and panting. Zinnia herself was wearing the clothes Zoe had gotten her - which were a little big, but that was okay, Zoe was trying - grinning to the camera. The next minute, she was smeared with cake crumbs and icing, but it was cute, it was fine, she was happy and playing, and he was happy too.

He could do this. It was Evan.

Only Evan.

“This - This is Zinnia,” he said, showing Evan his phone, and he just watched.

There was a moment where all Evan did was look, and trembled, just a little.

“She’s cute,” Evan said at last, his voice low, and hoarse. “Is she -”

“She - she’s my daughter, Evan.”

 _“Oh.”_ Did he even realise he said that? All - all lost, and little not okay, and Evan kept staring at Connor’s phone, like a child just told that the Santa in the mall was just an underpaid man in a suit, his fists balled up.

“She’s just over a year old,” Connor told him, voice just as quiet, and fuck, he was shaking himself. “Her birthday is the fifth of November, and she was born almost ten weeks premature so she had to stay in hospital for a long time. She’s the best part of my life, Ev, and she’s - she’s why I had to come back.”

Maybe it was too soon. 

“Oh,” Evan again. “Oh.” And then, as if he just remembered; “But aren’t you -”

“Gay and asexual, yeah.” He locked his phone, and put it back in his pocket. He couldn’t look at Evan, not at the moment, so he hid behind his hands again. “It’s. It’s just a - just a long story, Ev. All that really matters now is that Zinnia exists. That’s - that’s not going to change.”

He shouldn’t have done it. Not like that. Warmed Evan up to the idea. Introduced him to her slowly. Evan was - Evan wasn’t his family. Fuck, what was Evan really?

A fantasy. A boy half-dreamt up in his head. A character in a book. Someone he spent one night with and fixated on for the past five years.

“We shouldn't do this tonight.” He looked back up at Evan, who was gazing at him as though he wasn’t quite connected with the world, with himself, shaking his head as though that was meant to help.

Shit, was he biting his lip again? It’d scar if he wasn’t careful, and he had enough of those.

“No,” he said at last. “we shouldn't.”

“Are you free tomorrow?” Evan asked him, and there was just - just something to it that lifted Connor up, just a little, so he gave a kind of half-chuckle, half snort.

“I'm always free. I'm unemployed.” He ought to sort that out, really. Try and find some work he could do from home.

“I’ll pick you up then,” Evan said, and fuck, he was smiling at Connor, like he wanted to tell him _‘everything is okay’_. “And we can go to the café we were at earlier and just talk.”

“...it’ll be easier if I walk,” Connor murmured, shaking his head. “I mean, if I bring Zinnia - can I bring Zinnia? And Eva too, i-if that café is dog-friendly.”

“I’m not going to stop you from bringing your own daughter,” Evan said, and he was frowning, more himself, more aware of himself. “And it’ll be fine if we stay outside. There’s awning if it rains or gets too windy. Where, uh, where is she tonight?”

“Mom and Zoe are looking after her,” Connor told him, and god, he needed to call Zoe, see how she was, see how Zinnia was. “Mom thought I needed some time away from her, so I was sorta forced into going out. Are we, uh, gonna go?”

He hadn’t eaten all of his fries. His mocha was still almost full. But his stomach was churning, and he knew anything that went down now would only stay for an hour or so. 

“...if you’re finished,” Evan muttered, and -

That was right. Zoe.

“I wasn’t that hungry to begin with,” Connor said as he stood up, tray in one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with his other. Better just jump into it. “Do you, uh, not talk to Zoe? I thought you would have done, but when I asked Zoe about you, she just…got really pissed off.”

Was that prying too much? Evan had paled a little as he stood himself, not looking at Connor as he collected his own tray, his own food half-eaten. He shouldn’t push, he told himself. Shouldn’t push Evan like that.

But there was still a lot of blank pages from the past five years to Connor, or ones where there was a hint of a line, a brief outline an event. Like everything else, there was something, remnants of events, like how there wasn’t any alcohol to be found in his house anymore, or how Zoe was at college nearby when he knew she was looking at colleges states away before.

“You’re, uh, b-better off asking Zoe about that,” Evan ended up saying as he walked to the bins. “It g-got, uh. It got messy. Senior year. After you left. It’s - I s-shouldn’t say anything.”

“I thought you both went to that college that’s just an hour away though?” Connor asked, waiting for Evan, holding the door open, but Evan didn’t respond, just bit his own lip, face still pale as he walked to his car.

Right. Not the time to ask then. Maybe he could ask Zoe again.

He shouldn’t have said anything. Shouldn’t have opened his stupid mouth. And the apology was there, just on the tip of his tongue, but forcing it out would have just seemed wrong, so he kept quiet as they climbed back into Evan’s car.

“Am I okay to call Zoe?” Connor asked once Evan had started to drive, phone already in hand. “I just - Zinnia.”

“Go ahead,” Evan said. “I’ll, uh. Need directions to your house though.”

“Of course,” Connor told him, tapping the phone icon to call Zoe, putting his phone up to his ear. “Just keep driving until you reach, y’know, the richer part of town, then my street is Lincoln Street -”

“Connor?” came Zoe’s voice from the phone.

“Oh, hey, Zo, I’m checking in on Zinny. Is she -” High pitched wailing rose in the background, Connor wincing as it hit his ears. “Never mind, I can hear her. Has she been like that all evening?”

“For about ten… about ten fucking minutes,” Zoe murmured, voice wavering, and he could imagine her, just standing there, rubbing her forehead, trying to ease the pain.

“Not too long then,” he said, and then she muttered something he didn't quite catch. “What?”

“Connor, how do you cope?” Zoe asked, and she sounded just so - so tired and worn out, and he could remember when he sounded like that, sleepless nights spent at Zinnia’s side at home or at hospital.

“Oh, easy,” he said instead, because Evan was _right there_ , and Evan couldn’t hear about all of that. Not yet. “I cope because half my medication has insomnia listed as a side effect -”

“Please tell me you're kidding.”

“I’m not. You can check them for yourself,” he replied. “Anyway, I’m heading back now -”

“Connor Lawrence Murphy.” That was her ‘I’m so fucking done’ voice. “You’ve been gone, what, maybe a little over two hours? This does not count as a night out.”

Zinnia’s wails in the background rose, and then he could hear Zoe curse softly under her breath.

“It’s almost midnight,” he continued, “so, yes, this counts as a night out. I should be ten minutes?”

He glanced out the window, and vaguely realised he had no idea where they were.

“If she keeps crying, then give her the seahorse toy -”

“I _have_ ,” Zoe groaned. “She just - ah, no, baby, c’mon, stop crying, your daddy’s gonna be home soon - she just dropped it and started crying more. I don’t really know where it is at the moment. And yes, I have tried her with a bottle - Zinnia, please, just - just one moment.”

“Have you changed her?” 

“I checked her about… twenty minutes ago? And she was dry. I don’t think she would have gone between now and then.”

He couldn’t help the sigh that escaped. “She doesn’t exactly have regular bowel movements, Zoe,” he muttered. “She can’t control her shits.”

There was shuffling on the other end, barely audible above his daughter’s cries.

“I just - I just,” Zoe began, and her voice was caught, like she was holding back. “She’s just - harder work than I thought she was.”

“She’s only just a year old,” Connor murmured. “Is Mom still up?”

“S-She went to bed a little after you left. I don’t know if she’s asleep though.”

“Right, okay just - give her to Mom if you want a break. I - I know it’s hard work, Zo. I’ve done it by myself for a long time. She’s probably just upset and cranky that I’m not there. We’ve not spent that much time apart -”

“Is that something else that comes with insomnia?” she asked, and he could tell she was trying, a light edge of a chuckle to her voice. It just -

“It comes with being a single father, Zoe.”

Just hit him a bit too hard. That was all.

She was quiet a moment. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I just -”

“Yeah, no, Zoe, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he said quickly, shame falling over him. Stupid. Shouldn’t have said anything. “I won’t be that long. Just stick Friends on or something if she doesn’t need changing.”

“Friends? Fucking _Friends_? That’s odd.” The chuckle was back. Good.

“Yeah, I know, it’s odd. She likes the laugh track.”

“The _laugh track_?” 

“Yes, I know that’s odder.” He was chuckling himself now. “She’s my kid, did you expect her to be normal?”

“...no offence, but no.”

Zinnia sounded a little more calm now. Maybe she was falling back asleep.

“See? I mean, I know she was premature like me, but I’m hoping that’s where the inheritance stops, you feel me?”

“I feel you,” Zoe said. “But you do know she looks like you, right? Same hair colour, at least, and that’s as far as you get with babies, really. Bit lighter, maybe.”

“Zoe, she’s a _baby_ , you can’t judge her hair yet.”

Silence for a moment, then shuffling again.

“Didn’t you grow in blonde?” Zoe asked, and he groaned.

“ _Yes_ , I grew in blond,” he told her. “You were blonder in your baby days as well.”

“Was not,” she retorted, delight coloured her tone.

“We have pictures, Zoe Andrea,” he said, smiling. “Don’t make me dig them out.”

“Which house is it?” Evan piped up, and Connor startled, his phone almost slipping from his grip as he looked around.

It was his street, and there, his shitty black second-hand car was in the driveway next to his family’s nice shiny cars, and the downstairs light was on in his house.

“Jesus, you got here quick. Right outside my house too,” he muttered, pressing his phone back to his ear. “See you in, like, less than a minute.”

“See you,” Zoe echoed, and the hung up.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Is there a shortcut here I didn’t know about?” Connor asked Evan, just for something to say. “I took a lot of drives in high school, but I guess there’s something new to be found everywhere.”

Evan didn’t speak. Connor didn’t move.

The last time they had ended a night in a car together, it wasn’t an end. The last time they had spent a night together, Connor had almost killed himself in front of Evan and broken down crying in front of him. The last time they had said goodbye in a car together, they had kissed.

The last time they were together like this, they were different people.

“What time are we going to meet up tomorrow?” Evan asked him at last, voice a little soft and unsure.

“Lunch?” Connor asked him, hair caught in his own grasp again. “At that café we were at earlier? Uh, I don’t have facebook anymore, so you’ll need my phone number -”

“Oh, yeah, uh, one second -”

Evan passed his phone to Connor after unlocking it. The background was of a woman - his mom, maybe? - walking along a forest path, back to the camera and arms outstretched like a tightrope artist. He found Evan’s contacts, pushed back the thought it was just a little less sparse than it was in high school - why, of all things, did he remember that? - and added in his information, just calling himself Connor and nothing else. He sent himself quick and generic text before giving Evan his phone back.

They just looked at each other.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Evan said, still quietly, his voice oddly thick.

“Yeah,” Connor said. “Uh. Good night, Evan.”

“Good night, Connor,” Evan murmured, and then Connor unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of Evan’s car, night air nipping at his exposed ears as he walked up the front door.

He knocked on the door twice, and then it was open, Zoe was there, hair a mess, holding Zinnia who was red-faced and teary-eyed, but not wailing as much as he thought she would be.

“You don’t have to knock for your own house,” Zoe muttered, gesturing for him to come in, which he did, closing the door behind him, the warmth of his surroundings not quite hitting him yet. “See Zinny? Your daddy’s home, just like I said. He’s not gone. He hasn’t left you.”

“Pass her here, Zo,” he told her, and she waiting until he had taken off his boots to do so.

It was odd, really, how comforting the weight of his daughter was in his arms. She was still snuffling a little, and she kept blinking up at him, as if she was trying to figure out if he was real or not.

“What was all that crying for, huh?” he asked her, lifting her eye so her head was resting against his shoulder. “Did you miss me that much? Listen - don’t cause problems for your Auntie Zoe in the future, you hear me?”

Zinnia babbled a little, which he took as a ‘yes, Dad. I’ll try, Dad’.

“Was he that shit then?” Zoe asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning as the pair of them went back to the living room and all Connor could do was stare at her.

“Who?”

“The guy you were…” Zoe trailed off, turning around to face Connor. “Did you… not have a one night stand?”

It was like electricity zapped Connor, because his mind just _went_.

“What the actual fuck Zoe.”

“Don't swear around the baby,” she almost hissed, but then seemed to remember what they were actually discussing, because she looked away, cheeks blushing.

“Zoe, what did you mean?” he asked, and she went even redder if that was possible, stuttering a little.

“I - I,” she began, and swallowed, not looking at Connor. “I just thought, you know, s-since you weren't texting me or anything…”

“You thought I was having sex.”

She squealed then, clamping her hands over her ears, eyes squeezing shut.

“Don’t, it's weird when you say it!”

“It's weird you even thought it!” If he wasn't holding onto Zinnia, his arms would be in the air.

“You're a poet! At an open mike night! I'd thought you'd at least get something!”

“I have a _daughter_!”

“Exactly!” Zoe cried, and then clamped her hands over her mouth, turning to stare at Connor, like she knew.

Okay. Stay calm. She - It wasn't worth getting upset over.

She didn't mean what she said, Connor told himself, counting, in-two-three, out-two-three. It was just - just the most logical assumption to make. That Zinnia was an accident - and she was, really, she wasn't meant to be born, not meant to be _here_ , but that didn't change the fact she was - and he just ended up with her instead of her other parent. He could see how she thought it. It was just -

“You… you do know I’m gay, right?” he asked her, a little slower than maybe he should have done, but she nodded.

“I know, it's just… maybe you were in denial for a bit.” She shrugged. “I-I don't know.”

“Zoe, I just -” Well. She didn't need to know about the asexuality. Not right then. It wouldn't answer anything for her. “Look, Zinnia… Zinnia was more c-complicated than a one night stand. It's just - not something you need to hear about. Not for now.”

He thought he told her the truth. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she thought he was lying when he did. Maybe he didn't.

She nodded, slowly, and then they were just stood, staring at each other.

Things had been better between them over past month. Not perfect, but better. They still had moments, however, still had moments where they struggled for words, still didn't know where to go and how to act.

Maybe they should attend therapy together. At some point.

“…I need to put Zinnia to bed,” he said at last, because now she was nothing more than dead weight against his shoulder now. “Good night, Zo.”

“Night, Connor.”

Connor spent most of that night staring at either Zinnia’s cradle or the blank notebook in his hands. He scratched out an opening line - ‘listen; I didn't think we’d meet again’ - and then crossed it out, before giving up and staring up at the ceiling. The opening lines to Trainspotting stared back down at him, and he read it over and over again like he did every night.

‘Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television…’

 _'Chloe used to watch that movie all the time'_ , he thought just before he fell to the clutches of sleep.

When he went downstairs in the morning - late morning, late for him, around half ten - only Cynthia was there, a cup of coffee beside her on the kitchen table as she worked on something for her charity, crossing a lot of boxes on a lot of forms.

“This is late for you,” she commented as he deposited a still sleepy Zinnia into her high chair. “Good night then?”

“It was okay,” he told her. “That café does nice mocha.”

“It does, doesn't it?” she murmured, pushing her reading glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “Her food is on the side - I made a bottle earlier because I didn't know when she'd be up.”

“Thank you,” Connor murmured in response, collecting the aforementioned items and sitting down next to Zinnia, opening her food.

“There's some toast on the side for you,” Cynthia continued. “So be sure to eat it, yeah? Your dad kept trying to feed Eva bacon, by the way. Had to tell him you keep saying no.”

“Bacon’s fine. It's burgers she can’t have,” Connor said. “Gives her the shits. Goes straight through her, I swear.”

“Language,” Cynthia said, but there was no bite to it.

“Where are Dad and Zoe?” he asked, scooping some food onto a spoon and holding it out to Zinnia. “C’mon, Zinny, I know you hate being told the train’s coming, so are we going to do this right first time?”

A blank gaze was his answer to that.

“Zoe went back up to her college - she said something about a group project? And your dad’s out golfing.” Cynthia paused for a moment, putting her pen down and just looking at Connor as he fed Zinnia.

“Everything okay?” he asked when he noticed her. “Not got something on my face?”

“Connor,” she said, voice quiet. “Can I just tell you something?”

“… of course,” he said, but his hand was shaking.

“Don't… don't just think that love is all fairy tale romance star-gazing and soul mates,” she told him, smiling softly. “Sometimes… most times… love is just - just who’s kind to you. That’s all.”

Oh. _Oh._

His mom didn't have the easiest life. That he knew long before he left. And he knew that he himself wasn't the easier kid or teen to have ever. And he knew that she hadn't taken to his disappearance well.

She wasn't the best mom. No mom was. But she tried, at least a little, even if it sometimes it was too much and she didn't always understand.

And she was his mom. That wouldn't change.

“…I’ll remember that,” he ended up saying, and smiled back at her, and she went back to her work and he went back to feeding Zinnia, and they didn’t really speak again for the rest of the morning, though she did prod Connor into having some toast.

At twenty to twelve - because they had said lunch, and Evan did seem like the type who would have lunch twelve on the dot, even if for Connor it ranged from ‘late afternoon’ to ‘oh shit it’s too late for lunch’ - he dressed Zinnia in clothes that were better for the outside world, chewing gum like his life depended on it because he couldn’t smell like smoke around Evan, and half-wrestled Eva into her harness, cursing as she tried to bite his hand. Five fucking years of looking after this dog and she still tried to eat him alive every time he took her outside. Fucking ungrateful, that’s what she was.

His phone buzzed with a text just as he managed to hook her lead around the rings of her harness.

‘Evan: What time did we say again?’

Fuck. They didn’t say any time, so Evan was probably already there, probably wondering where Connor was, how had he already messed this up?

‘i was just about to set off. eva doesn’t like her harness so that took a while. should be about ten minutes? not too long’ he sent as he yelled into the house that he was off out, pausing only to make sure Zinnia was safe and secure in the baby carrier before leaving, not checking the reply his phone alerted him to.

The walk didn’t seem to take as long as it did the night before, but that might have been because he had Eva, who was more squirrel than dog with the way she’d scurry ahead, pausing for a quick sniff now and then or for people she thought would give her a treat.

Soon, he could see the café in the distance, the sounds of a busker hitting his ears, and Evan was sat by the door, under the awning like he said, leg shaking, hands clamped around an out-of-season Christmas mug, in a jacket much too thin for the weather, and he was just staring at Connor, and it took a moment for it to click in his mind why.

Truth be told, if someone told his high school self that in five years he’d be carrying around his child strapped to his chest, his high school self probably would have laughed. Or told that someone to fuck off.

The latter was more likely than the former, in all honesty.

“Before you ask,” Connor told a wide-eyed Evan, “the baby carrier was cheaper and smaller than a pram, and my apartment was tiny. As in, the living room and kitchen were joined together and even then it was the nursery. So, uh. Yeah. That’s why.”

Smaller than that, even. His bathroom back then was basically a closet with a toilet and shower added for decoration.

Evan muttered something that Connor didn’t quite catch as he looked around the outside seating area for a high chair, spotting one that was just tucked behind a potted plant.

“Hold Eva for me,” he told Evan as he handed him the lead, before going to the high chair and pulling it to the table, pausing only to deposited the now flavourless gum he had been chewing into the bin. Zinnia babbled as he lifted her out of her carrier and sat her down in the high chair, making sure she was safe and secure before taking the carrier off himself and sitting down.

When he looked up, Evan appeared to be having a staring contest with Zinnia, and he wasn’t sure how to break the news to Evan that Zinnia would win, so he just opted to clear his throat.

“Zinnia,” Connor said as steadily as he could, “this is Evan, my friend. Evan, this is Zinnia.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Zinnia,” Evan said, like he was expecting Zinnia to say something and stay quiet like she did, only to yelp when Eva jumped onto his lap, all eight pounds of her spread onto two tiny back paws, tongue out and already lapping at Evan’s face.

“Woah, woah, hey there, n-nice to see you too,” Evan muttered as Eva licked his cheeks, clearly unused to actually having a small dog on his lap. “Uh, it’s nice to know you’re s-still alive and all, but I don’t really want dog, uh, saliva all o-over me so -”

“Eva, _down_ ,” Connor told the dog, trying to repress the laugh that threatened him. Eva did as she was told, hopping down from Evan’s lap, and laying down at Connor’s feet underneath the table, though her ears were still raised. “Yeah, the vet said she was only a year old when I took her, so she’s like six-ish, seven-ish now? And chihuahuas on their own live to about 20 years, so she’s got a lot of life in her yet.”

Evan nodded as he took a sip from his mug Santa-themed, which got more and more distressing the more Connor looked at it. Did the café just have a thing for tacky mugs? “Do you want a drink or anything?” he asked. “I’ll pay for you.”

Oh god, he’d probably get a Halloween themed mug if he did. And -- and they didn’t come here just for drinks. Not really. Not at all. So he shook his head, wondering why he didn’t tie his hair back as strands fell in front of his face.

“...I think we’re better off just talking to begin with,” he murmured, but then he was stuck, mind blank, and he couldn’t look at Evan, so he looked at the table instead, and what could he say? What would even be right for Evan? How the fuck could he actually start explaining everything?

“ _I can be myself now finally_ ,” sang the busker down the street. “ _In fact there's nothing I can't be. I want the world to see you be, with me._ ”

Right.

Start with what was in front of them. Start with Zinnia. Start with how she wasn’t quite normal.

Okay.

“So, uh, Zinnia,” Connor tried, still focused on the table. “She’s uh - you might have. She’s - she’s small for her age. And she’s not, uh, you know. Acting like a one-year-old. Well, uh. There’s a good reason for that, and - and -”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t _fucking_ do it.

Couldn’t fucking tell Evan Hansen about all the shit he had been through. Couldn’t tell him about Vermont, couldn’t just say ‘Zinnia is my daughter and she’s disabled because her mom took heroin while pregnant with her’. Couldn’t just say ‘hey, I’m better than I was, but I’m still not good, and I need you to believe that I can be sometime soon because you were the only person I know that ever told me I even had a chance at being good’.

Couldn’t say ‘I missed you more than I thought I would’.

“For fuck’s sake, why is this so hard?” he asked, and only now did he realise his head was hurting, dull pain radiating. “It shouldn’t. F-Fuck, I’ve told my Mom all of this, you shouldn’t be worse than her. You’re - you’re my _friend_.”

“Start at the beginning,” Evan told him, and god, he was just so - so gentle. “Start from where you left.”

There must have been moment, just somewhere, just a moment. A moment where Connor could have stopped, and said ‘no’.

But there wasn’t.

He raised his head, and he looked at Evan, still slightly baby-faced and still freckled, and then he looked at his daughter, who was still staring at Evan as if she was supposed to know him, but couldn’t quite recall his name or how. And 

“Okay,” he murmured to himself. “Okay.”

And then it was - and then it was easier.

Maybe it was because he had told all of this before, to Grace, through therapy, to his mom, late at night when neither of them could sleep. But once he started talking, he couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop talking about Eva, how she seemed to be the only thing that wanted to be around Connor because she ran up to him in the park and lept into his arms. Couldn’t stop telling him about how leaving was the most terrifying thing he had done as an eighteen-year-old, how he was sure that they’d find him somehow so he all but destroyed anyway of contacting him and he had to get his hair cut and dyed in a hair salon in the next town over just to minimise the risk.

Couldn’t stop talking about how hard everything was, how he had to fight with himself to not get involved with anyone, to keep his head down and to keep going, keep hiding, keep pretending he wasn’t lonely, not looking at news or media as he drove for what seemed to be forever, sleeping in his car most nights, motels others. How he only sent Evan a letter and couldn’t even bring himself to buy a Christmas card for his family.

He told Evan about how Eva was the one who made him stop, because she’d always just run whenever they got to a new town and even if she always came back or was found, it was still too much, and he just had to stay in one place, because he couldn’t be a nomad like that. He told him about the first apartment he ever had, how he was sure he was being charged more than what the shoebox sized place was, but he was just so tired he didn’t care anymore.

He told Evan that most nights, the only thing that stopped him from offing himself was a year old chihuahua mix sleeping in his lap, and the thought that he might not get another chance to see Evan or Zoe or anyone if he did go.

“It was just - little things that kept me going,” he told Evan, blink blink _blinking_ as he gazed at him, trying to ignore the tears he knew were there. “I mean, that’s how you survive, isn’t it? You just - find all the little reasons to survive, and you go from one to the other until you find your big reason.”

And then he told Evan about Grace, how she was the fifth therapist he had and she was by accident, an emergency appointment he made because he was scared but it worked, she worked with him, she made him feel better. Told him about how when he got pills and a diagnosis from a psychiatrist he had cried, because he finally understood why, even if finding pills that worked for him took harder work than he thought.

How everything cost him until it got to point where he had to choose between a place to live or survival, and how he chose survival.

And then it got harder, because he had to talk about Chloe.

Chloe Delilah Murray.

“I met her because I was looking for a drug dealer,” he murmured, holding Zinnia close now because she had started to fuss a little. “I - I know, not the best reason, but old habits die hard and I was - I was better, but not okay, and I - I just needed a high. She saw me, and offered to take to a drug dealer. Except, well. He - he sold heroin. Not pot. I didn’t even realise it was heroin because she called it something weird like skunk or skag. But she was so nice and bought me some and it - I had to try it, you know?”

“You - you were a heroin addict?” Evan asked, and Connor could see it, could see Evan’s fright and disappointment all over his face, so he shook his head quickly.

“Oh, god, no. I hated it. Absolutely hated it. I threw up and felt so dizzy I thought I was dying,” he assured him. “It - It wasn’t instant addicted feeling that they all say it has. I just didn’t feel good at all. So I never took again. She did though - I swear, she was always high in some form or another.” 

And then he could remember, remember her wails of _“I need it, please!”_ , how blissed out and happy she was and how routine it was to find her lying on the living room floor, her mind up in space and beyond her body.

“But that first time - after I threw up all over the place, we ended up talking and she was just - nice,” Connor continued. “Like you were. She offered me a place to stay, in exchange for… for ‘se-services’.”

He couldn’t look at Evan. He hadn’t told his mom about this. He’d hadn’t told her about Chloe at all.

“S-Services?” And -

And Connor remembered lying on her sofa, at night, hoping she’d walk past only to feel her fingers trail down and brush against him. Remembered lying there, on her bed, pretending he wasn’t there, her silver cross resting on her chest. Remembered how she smiled at him like she was playing the role of a fairytale princess, as if she hadn’t made him feel like poison and ice inside every time.

“I, uh. It - It wasn’t drug related, but uh. She - Ev. Don’t - don’t make me talk about it. You - You’re not _dumb_.”

He was shaking. Maybe Evan was too.

“Connor - Connor that’s -”

“I know what it is, Evan,” Connor told him, laughing as he did, because fuck, everyone else had told this to had told him, so why not Evan? 

He could still remember when he told Grace, because that was the only time she had seemed - seemed shocked by him. She had stared at him from behind tortoise-shelled glasses, mouth open and -

“Connor, that’s _rape_ ,” she had whispered.

He had laughed back then too, because he didn’t know what else he could do.

“T-Trust me, I know what it is. I’ve scanned Vermont law so many times, I can recite by heart. A-And there’s no point going after her with the law for it, she - she’s too fucked in the head to know what it was. She’s too nice to know what she was doing. L-Like I said, basically always high.”

Then Evan put his hand over Connor’s, and it was warm, and heavy, and grounding, and Connor felt - felt a little okay. A little better.

“Thank you,” Connor murmured land he took a deep breath. “Uh, she - that’s how it was, for a while. Turns out she’s like, the most Catholic person ever. Like, probably as Catholic as the pope. I’m - I’m not sure why she isn’t a nun, if I’m honest -” she’d have been happier if she was, he thought - “A-Anyway, after a year or so of this, I manage to save up enough that I didn’t need her around, so I moved out, and I thought, y’know, that’d be the last I’d see of her, but she called me up a month later and… she was pregnant. With Zinnia. So I had to let her back in.”

_“Connor, please, I’m so scared, I don’t know what to do -”_

“You didn’t,” Evan said, as if it were that easy.

“I did. Evan, believe me, I did. She - I offered to pay for an abortion, but she refused. Said you get excommunicated or something for abortions and religion was all she had.” Zinnia started to fuss, wriggling a little, her face scrunching up like it did when she started to cry, so he shushed her, pulling her closer, taking his hand from under Evan’s.

“So we - we started hanging out again, and she took more heroin and I took parenting classes, because… e-even then, I think I knew that I’d end up with the baby. One time, she just broke down crying in front me, made me promise to look after h-her. But that - that’s not important. Like I said, Zinnia end up being born early but… she was born - she was addicted to heroin when she was, and me and Chloe kept arguing during the entire time she born - I was asked to leave the room because we were that bad... and she was just there, already with a shittier start to live than either me or her mom.” He stopped, and looked at Zinnia, who was staring up at him, blue eyes large like the sky on a hot summer's day .

She was tiny now. She had been tinier back then, when she was in her incubator, not even meant to be in the world yet, tubes and cables helping her to live.

In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three, out-two-three.

“You can stop here if you want,” Evan told him, his voice low. Idly, Connor wondered if anyone else had heard their conversation, then shook his head.

He could do this.

In-two-three, out-two-three.

“I’m almost done. I’m -I’m almost done,” he promised. “S-So Zinnia was born addicted to heroin, so she had to be weaned off it, and there - a doctor actually sat me down as said she might not make it. A-And she did, she did, and I’m so happy for that, and that’s when I decided to sue for custody - which was an actual piss take of a thing to do. Turns out in Vermont, if you’re not married, whoever the father is doesn’t go down on the birth certificate until you file for it, so that took a while, then I had to wait for all the courts and stuff, and for Zinnia and Chloe to get better - she’s still in rehab, I think, Chloe, but there’s more wrong with her than just drugs - but I got there. I got her.”

He didn’t tell Evan he still had Chloe’s phone number. Didn’t tell him he hoped she was better somehow, in some way.

“And then I sent a poem off to this competition because the entry fee was fifty bucks compared to thousands of prize money, and someone liked it enough to contact me for more and I got published and - and that’s been the past five years.” And that -  
And that was all. All that Evan needed to know, at least. Because he still had some problems, but those were Therapist Problems and not Evan Problems and -

Evan was hugging him.

Fuck, he was shaking, and Evan was hugging him, warm despite his thin jacket, and he smelt of pine, of course he smelt of pine, Zinnia was fidgeting a little, so Connor pulled her close and he hugged Evan back, tighter, tighter than he had hugged anyone for a while.

“You’re alive,” Evan whispered, and he could hear the relief in his voice. “You’re _alive_. That’s all that matters. That’s all I wanted. For you to still be here.”

“Evan.” He wasn’t crying. Fuck, he was not crying. “God, Evan, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Evan murmured, and his voice was thick, like he was holding back tears. “Connor, I never stopped missing you.”

That was a lie. Connor knew that. But it was nice to believe him, especially as he pulled away for a moment, and smiled at Connor, tears running down his face, cheeks and face red.

“I brought you things,” he whispered. “Every year, on your birthday. I’d buy you a card and a present and… and I’d write you a letter, just so you’d know how everything was. I’ll bring them next time.”

He -

He had thought of him?

Connor couldn’t help but stare. Evan Hansen had brought him birthday presents even when he wasn’t there, and he wrote, even if he didn’t - couldn’t - send any of them.

Fuck. Connor Murphy was worth a lot of things. None of them good. None of them actually worth something. Nothing - nothing like that. All Connor had given Evan was a letter and a book, and it was only then what else Evan had said clicked in his mind.

“There’s… there’s a next time?” And he couldn’t let himself get too caught up in that, couldn’t let himself hope too much. It’d only hurt later.

“I mean. I want there to be a next time,” Evan said, voice taut like a tightrope, and then he shook his head, as if he had just realised where they were again.

“I do too.” Zinnia started to squirm in his lap, almost whimpering, and then Eva was off, whining like she always did when she wanted attention, up and tugging at her lead, trying to escape from her harness.

“I want there to keep being next times,” Evan told him. His arms were still around Connor, and he never wanted them to leave. “I still haven’t told you what happened after you left.”

“You could tell me now,” he said, desperation edging his voice, because there was still days where he needed people, because he was still a little pathetic most days, and he could see it in Evan’s eyes as he mulled it over, and for a moment, he let himself pretend it was only them outside on the street, no dog, no baby, no strangers passing by and casting them odd glances.

It was - it was a nice thought. But it wasn’t the reality.

The reality was Evan was smiling at him as he finally let go of Connor’s shoulders, only for his hands to hold Connor’s, Evan’s thumbs brushing over the scars, as though he liked them.

“I need to get back to college,” he murmured. “I think you need to get home for Zinnia.”

“I don’t want you to go.” He held on, his fingers entwining with Evan’s.

“I don’t either,” Evan told him. “But come back here on Saturday. We can sit together and talk, and hang out again. If you - if you want.”

And Connor smiled, just smiled, maybe bit his lip a little, and nodded at Evan.

“Are you going to sing again?” he asked, because he needed to hear him again. “You - You have a nice voice.”

“I always sing,” Evan told him, chuckling a little. “Maybe you could read some poetry?”

And maybe it was just because of everything, but Connor started to laugh too, and maybe it was more of a cackle than he would have liked, but he was laughing, and it felt so good.

“Maybe - Maybe one day,” Connor murmured. “But, like, not right now. Let me settle down a bit first.”

“Of course,” Evan said. “Of course.”

They were quiet for a moment. Evan was still holding Connor’s hands.

“The last time we said goodbye you kissed me,” Evan said quietly, and he wasn’t quite crying anymore, so Connor kept smiling.

“I did,” he said. “But I wasn’t going to be good to you then.”

And he wasn’t, because seventeen-year-old Connor was a suicidal asshole with far too many problems to be good to even himself, never mind other people, and he was going to leave no matter before he turned eighteen, and he couldn’t let Evan be dragged down by that.

“Do you - uh, d-do you, d-do you think we could -” Evan tried, and he was blushing, not looking at Connor.

“Of course we can,” Connor told him, and so they did.

It was imperfect, but of course it was. Warm, and a little honeyed, maybe a little bitter from whatever Evan had been drinking, but it was Evan, and he was real, and he was there, and he smelt like pine and cedar and oak and all of the fucking forest and god, he loved it, loved this, and maybe everything in the future wouldn’t be so bad

“I’ll text you when I get home,” Evan told him when they parted, but he was still clutching onto Connor’s hands. “And I’ll text you whenever.”

“I’ll text you too,” Connor promised, finally letting go of Evan’s hands, promising next Saturday, definitely next Saturday they’ll see each other again, and then he was hoisting Zinnia back into her carrier, still talking with Evan as Connor secured Eva’s lead in his grip, still talking as he took Evan’s hand into his free one as they walked to Evan’s car.

“Stay safe, yeah?” Connor asked him as Evan climbed into his car, which was somehow even greener in daylight.

“I will,” Evan promised, smiling a little, and then he was gone, driving off to his home, and Connor stayed until he couldn’t see his car anymore before walking home, apologising to Eva for such a shit walk today and that she’d have a better one tomorrow.

Rain started to drip and drizzle down as he walked home, so he hurried a little for Zinnia’s sake, but couldn’t help but pause on the doorstep to his house, and look up at the vast greyness above him.

 _‘It’s actually a really nice day,’_ he thought to himself, before he opened the door and stepped back inside.

\---

My therapist told me  
That it might help if I listed out  
All things that I hold dear,  
So here they are:  
My dog,  
My life,  
The fact I can actually get out of bed now  
most days, at least.  
My car,  
My old jacket,  
My collection of Fall Out Boy CDs  
because they remind me of you, when I play them  
looped again and again in my car,  
My cigarettes replacing my blades,  
Your memory,  
and the idea of your face,  
when we finally meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic that starts stronger than it ends, which seems to be something I need to work on. I do like Connor's last thought, however. And I think I did okay with his narration overall.
> 
> Honestly, the easiest stuff to write was the new scenes with Zoe and Cynthia, because with the rest it was an act of 'right, how can I restate this action without being redundant or self-plagiarizing', so it was a good challenge, at least.
> 
> How this ended up 16k though, I have no idea.
> 
> Fun trivia time: the title was, for a while, going to be a line from Disloyal Order of Water Buffalo, but I couldn't pick a line that I liked more than the others, so it ended up being that beautiful hybrid of a title.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this fic! If you have any questions, liked the fic, have feedback or noticed any mistakes, post in the comments below, or at my tumblr [here](http://princedrewwrites.tumblr.com). I'm getting better at using it, I swear! Or, if you just liked the fic and don't want to say anything, just leave a kudos. There's no pressure either way


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